Lady Crenshaw's Christmas

LADY CRENSHAW’S CHRISTMAS

By

Heidi Ashworth

~~~~~~~~

PUBLISHED

BY:

Heidi Ashworth

Copyright © 2012
by
Heidi Ashworth

Cover design by Laura J Miller

www.anauthorsart.com

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ank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
 

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, except for brief quotes for articles or reviews, without express written permission from the author. 
This book is a work of fiction
. Characters, names, events and places are the products of the author’s imagination.  A
ny resemblance to persons, living or dead
is purely coincidental. 

Chapter One

Lady Crenshaw adjusted the angle of a ribbon adorning the kissing ball above her head and suppressed a well-earned sigh.  How was she ever to manage?  It had been nearly seven months since her marriage, blissful ones spent in the country, a circumstance that was not conducive to a much-neglected education in the ways of the
ton
.   How was she to carry off the Christmas ball, one attended by so many lords and ladies, all of whom would be sure to catch her out if she made a mistake?  And how was she to hide her burgeoning pregnancy when it was so imperative not to outshine the highly trumpeted arrival of the duke’s hoped-for heir mere weeks before her own?  

As for a suitable gift for her husband, well, Ginny was finding that money was not much of an answer to anything.  It would be easy to waltz into a shop and buy something he might wish for, but so could he.  She was desperate to give him what he could not buy for himself, a gift that would carry with it all the love she felt for him, but Christmas was days away and she had not thought of a single thing.

As if that were not enough, she had Grandaunt Regina to fret over.  Delighted that Anthony and Ginny had chosen to make their home at Dunsmere, the old lady was all that was amiable—at first.  As the months went by, she become more and more her exacting self and was determined that everything be according to her tastes, the upcoming ball in particular.  She was uncompromising in her desire that it should rival those she had given as a young Duchess of Marcross.  Every order Ginny gave, every plan she executed, every list she wrote, was immediately tossed out and undone by her grandaunt who claimed each to be inadequate and highly unsuitable.  The kissing ball above her head was the only detail deemed unexceptionable.  As such, the house was bare of anything else that bespoke Christmas.   

Turning her thoughts to the ballroom, one replete with mirrors, portraits, fireplace mantles and chandeliers, all of which must be adorned with boughs of holly, Ginny felt her stomach knot.  Then there was the food and candles—did she order enough?—and the gown she had bespoken; would it hide her pregnancy?  Anthony was an indulgent husband but he was unaccountably rigid about keeping the news of their forthcoming child under a shroud of secrecy for as long as possible.  There had already been enough scandal when his uncle, the duke, had run off with Anthony’s once-upon-a-time-almost betrothed, followed by the new duchess’ pregnancy hard on the heels of their elopement, one that threatened to disinherit Anthony from becoming the next Duke of Marcross. 

Neither Ginny nor her husband had relished the idea of inheriting the title upon his uncle’s death.  In the meantime, it was a strain to be obliged to cater to the demanding duke and his spiteful duchess.  For what seemed the hundredth time, Ginny cast her eyes to heaven and prayed the duke’s child would be born a boy, and they might well return to the relative obscurity enjoyed by a mere baronet and his lady wife.

So deep in thought was she that she was startled to find herself wrapped in a pair of gentle but unrelenting arms.

“Anthony! I didn’t hear you come in!” she said.  She felt a little breathless but couldn’t be sure if it was due to the squeezing of her lungs or the smoldering in his eyes. 

“You look ravishing in red,” he said between a pair of heady kisses. 

“I shall be sure to order a dozen red gowns straightaway.  But first I must catch my breath!” Ginny pleaded. 

With a sigh, he released her and pointed to the kissing ball with a twinkle in his eye.  “If we are to have only one ornament this Christmas, I am delighted it is this one!  However, the night of the ball, you shall go nowhere near it, if I have anything to say to it.”

“You have nothing to say to it,” she said with a playful toss of her head.  “I am the hostess and as such expect to be kissed by a great many lords, all of them free of their wives’ tethers and sure to be slightly addled with drink.”

“Hmmm,” Anthony intoned.  “I suppose one can expect nothing less, especially if your gown is as fetching as this.”

“This old thing?” Ginny teased.  “True, it is silk but I intend to wear velvet for the ball.”

“Velvet!  Between the mass of humanity, the roaring of the fireplace and the countless candles, it will be hot as Hades in the ballroom.  Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Ginny insisted, weary of having all of her party plans questioned by one Crenshaw or another.  “It is much stiffer than silk and won’t cling so to my expanding girth.”

“So long as it is red, none shall be able to tear his eyes away from the beauty of your face,” Anthony said, leaning in for another kiss.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Ginny chided.  “I have
much
too much to do.  I am off to the library to sit by the fire and go over my lists,” she said, heading off at a brisk walk.  “That is to say, the final lists, those that have been approved by You Know Who.”

Anthony, following along, took her hand and kissed it.  “Lead on.  I can think of nothing so welcome as to sit by the fire and reflect on the beauty of my wife for as long as she will have me.”

Ginny suppressed a smile and pretended to be irked.  “What ever shall I do with you?  Shall I never know a moment’s peace?”

Anthony cocked his head and looked thoughtful.  “I don’t expect you will,” he said with an air of great assurance.

Laughing, they threw open the doors to the library to find themselves face to face with their shared relative, Ginny’s Grandaunt Regina, also known as Grandmama to Anthony.

“Where have you two been?” she asked, aiming a glare of annoyance down her pointed nose.  “I have been waiting this age.”

Ginny and Anthony exchanged a look.  “Grandaunt, did we have an appointment?” Ginny asked in as contrite a voice as she could muster.  “I am sorry.  I seem to have forgotten it.”

“You are excused due to your condition,” the old lady said with a wave of her hand.  “But you, my most beloved grandson, have some explaining to do.”

“Grandmama, if you recall, I asked that you put off this conversation.  I don’t wish to discuss the baby until after the Christmas celebrations.”  The severity of his voice was softened by the kiss he dropped onto his grandmother’s highly rouged cheek. 

“If
you
recall, Tony, I refused to agree to such terms.  In a few days time the house will be full of guests, all of them rife with questions regarding Ginny’s all too obvious condition.  If you had thought to keep it a secret thus long, you should have insisted she stay away from sweetmeats and other goodies.”

Ginny heard the gasp escape her mouth before she could stop it.  Biting her lip, she turned to face the fire, hoping the heat of the flames would be blamed for the rising tide of color in her cheeks.

“Grandmama, you go too far.  Ginny’s condition is hardly obvious and will be less so when she is wearing the special gown she has bespoken.  There is no need to say a word to anyone until later.”  He paused and Ginny, still facing the fire, imagined him rubbing his chin the way he always did when deep in thought.

“In point of fact, we need say nothing until the child is born.  If my uncle’s babe is a boy, we need hardly ever go to town and may keep our child’s existence practically in the dark for as long as we wish.”

“Posh!” Grandaunt Regina declared.  “This baby belongs to you and to Ginny, my only living relatives for whom I have any finer feeling.  I wish the world to know of it!”

Ginny felt her heart soften with those words and turned to join the conversation.  However, Anthony was none too pleased.

“And what of the duke’s child?  His babe will be your grandson as much as I,” Anthony pointed out.  “He has lost a grown son, one destined to be his heir, and now has all his hopes pinned on his duchess giving birth to a boy.  Neither Ginny nor I wish to incur his wrath by being the cause of any distraction.”

Grandaunt Regina drew a deep sigh and followed it with a loud, “harrumph”. 

“There, now, dearest Grandmama, I feel you are beginning to see the wisdom in my words,” Anthony said.

“Yes, indeed,” she admitted, though it was clear from the pained expression on her face that she was far from appeased.  “At the very least, you must choose a name.  I should be very pleased if you would indulge me in that.”

“John, of course, after Ginny’s father and mine,” Anthony said as if Ginny hadn’t expressed an ardent desire to name their son after
his
father.  “And Regina if it is a girl, naturally,” he added, almost as an afterthought.  The idea of a girl child was clearly not a possibility he had much considered.

Grandaunt crowed with delight but Ginny felt no such thing.  “I had hoped to name our daughter after my mother, Mary,” she said as surely as she dared.

“Don’t be a fool, Ginerva,” her grandaunt demanded.  “Your daughter will be no peasant.”

“It doesn’t matter, Grandmama, our first girl shall be named after you and that is an end to it,” Anthony said in soothing tones.

Ginny felt a stab of pain prick her heart.  “But, Anthony, you said I should choose the baby’s name.”  She thought about the night she told him that he was to be a father.  They had spent a cozy hour nestled in bed dreaming of the bundle of joy to come and all their plans for it.  He had insisted that she have everything her way, according to her desires; the gift of the babe was enough for him.  Now it seemed as if that night were a figment of her imagination. 

“There will be other babes, Ginny.  You can name the second.  The first is special and Grandmama is right; he or she will be of noble birth.”

Ginny thought perhaps she had heard amiss.  “Anthony, how could you?  You, who married a commoner with no title attached to her name?” 

Her husband had the grace to look a bit struck but he refused to be baited.  Instead he turned to his grandmother and made their excuses.  “The Christmas Eve ball is tomorrow night.  We shall discuss this again afterwards and not before.” 

“Anthony!” his grandmama cried but he paid no notice.  Moving to where his wife stood by the fire, he took her by the elbow.  “Come, my love, let us cry pax and see where things stand with the preparations in the privacy of our rooms.”

For once, the forthright Ginny saw the wisdom in holding her tongue.  She allowed herself to be led out of the room and a safe distance down the passageway before she gave vent to her feelings.  “Anthony, I am persuaded you insisted that I name the baby.  Do you not remember?”  Ginny could hear the choked sound in her throat that presaged tears to come but she pressed on.  “It was the night I told you I was increasing.  You were so happy. We were
both
so happy!”

Anthony stopped at the base of the staircase and took her in his arms. “Yes, darling, I do remember it very well.  And you are right.”  He leaned away from her to better see her face.  “However, I hadn’t counted on how much it would mean to Grandmama.  Nor did I consider that, should I inherit the title, my son will, as well.  His name must
mean
something.”

“Does it not mean something that our son should bear your name?” Ginny demanded.

“But of course!  He shall be a Crenshaw like the rest of us, will he, nill he.”  He went on to say Ginny knew not what for she sank to the bottom step and burst into tears.

“My darling, what is it?” Anthony cried so as to be heard over the sounds of her sobs.  “Is it the baby?”

“No, it is not the baby, Anthony.  It is not our disagreement about its name or the ball I am to give which I am thoroughly mismanaging or Grandaunt Regina and her meddling.  It is not that I am so tired,” she wailed, “or that I haven’t the slightest idea as what to give you as a Christmas gift.”

Appalled, Anthony sat down next to her and pressed her head to his knee so as to better stroke her hair.  “It isn’t any of those things; it is all of them.  Am I right?”

Ginny nodded her head with some difficulty, pinned as it was between Anthony’s thigh and his hand.